


the trial

by lostamongstars



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Afterlife, Canon Crossover, Contest Entry, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Crossover, Everyone defends Newt, Gen, I'm not good with tags tbh, I'm not really good with tags dammit, In the Underworld, Judgment, Minos messes up, Newt meets Nico di Angelo, oof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:59:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostamongstars/pseuds/lostamongstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Underworld had given Newt justice, with the bonus of his fleeting memories in tow. </p><p>[ PJO/HoO x TMR Crosover ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	the trial

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah! Submitted for Wattpad's #fanficfriday! I got really excited on this because the contest is a crossover one! And just so everyone knows, I love crossovers to bits.
> 
> I cross-posted the story because... idk. Just want to share it, I guess u^u
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it! xx

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**The Trial (PJO/HoO x TMR)**

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 **Disclaimer:**  I don't own the characters and settings mentioned in the story. All rights go to both Rick Riordan and James Dashner.

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Every day the sun came up and every night it went down again. Newt couldn't say the same thing in the Underworld, though. Shuck it. He didn't even have any idea what exactly passed for morning here, or if he'd taken any sleep at all since he'd been dropped off the boat driven by an old crone who charged him with a drachma. Whatever  _that_  was.

 

When Newt explained he didn't know what a drachma was, much less have one to show, things got really weird. The old crone tensed first, then introduced himself as Charon and said he would go free aboard his humble ferry. This caused a little tumult on the "mortal side" of the black river ("Sticks?" He'd asked one time. "Ah, no. It's S-t-y-x," Charon said. "Styx."). They started catcalling the man unfair and bias. 

 

"I'm merely following the gods" was the man's reply before he shoved Newt to the boat. Along the way he'd explain as much as he could to Newt, the gods, some general facts about the Underworld, that kind of stuff. It was all but confusing, and all Newt did was nod as if he'd understood. Well, he did, technically, but he couldn't wrap his mind around it. It'd take him days before he deemed it true and good...

 

Wait. When did that happen again? Yesterday? The day before yesterday? Or was it five hours ago?

 

The most he could was shook his head, (he felt like he'd been doing that a lot as of late) and let out a frustrated sigh. Time disorientation sucked.

 

"Move forward, boy," snickered a ghost behind him. Newt glanced over his shoulder. The guy had a broken nose and malevolent dark blue eyes. He was as pale as milk and had purple blotches for highlights on his skin. Wonderful. If he was alive his stomach would've churned already. The whole of his body seemed to wink in and out of existence like a scratchy hologram.

 

It wasn't like Newt looked any better. Maybe he still had those welts and sores he'd acquired from his part-time Crank self. The wound on his forehead, thanks to Thomas' gun. Loose threads hung at the ripped edges of his shirt and pants. He's barefooted, too.

 

And the blood on his clothes. Blood that could've been his or some other person's. He couldn't remember. Was it natural? Newt was supposed to remember things, and he did have an excellent memory, but the longer he stayed in this dank and dark place the more he forgot things. 

 

But he couldn't forget a few people. Like... Thomas. He was probably a happy shank now, wasn't he? Him and the other Immunes like Minho? Living in their own shucking paradise?

 

Newt only shrugged and moved forward, the darkness of the Underworld slinking its misty tendrils to his body. To fill the void in his heart he didn't know he had. On he went to the gates of Hell, to the three-headed dog baring its three sets of canine teeth at him from a distance.

 

He didn't know what exactly to expect beyond the black gates. Could it be punishment, or salvation?

 

*

 

Newt had found a strange kind of uneasiness when he entered the Judgment Pavilion, like he'd come to someone else's territory without any permission. A thick, gnawing sensation dug in his gut. He didn't belong here. He didn't. Was it because he was a Crank? Because he asked someone to kill him?

 

Some ghosts from before entered the black ten. Like, the man who wanted to beat him to pulp earlier in the EZ Death line for one. He found his own place to sulk and wait for judgment time- a desolated corner. A pang of recognition hit him. He had done this before... Isolating himself from the crowd. But he couldn't remember what, now. Looking at the whole pavilion, Newt figured that it wasn't much, really, which was bloody disappointing considering how grand Hades' palace looked like from afar. The black walls probably made of obsidian, the glimmering garden of crystals, the ornaments made up of precious gems. That's bloody wicked. No pun intended.

 

The pavilion was pretty much a black tent, and a really wide one, for that matter. About a hundred candles hung from several small chandeliers. Newt had no idea where those buggin' metals hooked at. The space looked like someone could host a ballroom party in it with about two hundred people, give or take. Disregarding the constant presence of ghosts lingering in and out of the space, the undead waiting for the verdict just like him, the pavilion felt empty.

 

Maybe because the judges haven't arrived yet.

 

Word got around just a few moments later. Good thing Newt's senses were sensitive (does that even make sense? Newt had zero interest in finding out) or else he wouldn't know. It was that large congregation of ghosts by the dais- where a long table of dark marble and a line of five chairs stood behind it were located- that chattered about. Newt did a head count. Must be around twenty or thirty dead people there. All but chatterboxes. What a shame. They were all boys.

 

"Say, what do we have?" He must be the leader. The blond peered a little at the crowd and saw the guy from earlier.

 

So. The slinthead got an army at the EZ Death Line and here.

 

The chattering continued. Their bodies continued to shimmer in and out of the plane of existence, a really nasty trick that gave Newt vertigo. As he dealt with the nauseating feeling, he caught snippets of the ghost party's chatter convention.

 

"The ghosts outside say that Hades' wife and son will overlook the judgment today."

 

"You mean the Greek goddess Purse- what, help me out!"

 

"I don't remember those stuff anymore!"

 

"You! Why don't you stop sniggering there and help us figure it out?"

 

"You think  _I_  know?"

 

"Persephone," said one, somewhat trance-like. "Yeah. I think it was Persephone."

 

"You a myth genius, spock?"

 

"I just heard it from the veteran ghosts outside."

 

"And a kid, you say?"

 

"They say he's going to be Hades' representative," said the boy. "Probably his son, whatever the heck that meant."

 

"Do they have any say on the judgment? Persephone and the boy?"

 

"Probably."

 

Newt heard the tent flap moving, and he stared at that direction. More ghosts, but these ones wore camo uniforms. The ghosts flickered one last time before disappearing, appearing a second later in a sitting position. Newt found himself at the front row of the instant seating arrangement, a ten by five.

 

Fifty dead people were to be judge about by five people. Chances were, Newt's verdict will get him to the Fields of Asphodel.

 

See, the judgment was only given to those who actually need it. When a person died with an equal amount of good or bad things done, they went to Asphodel. No more of the judgment process. They just get shipped there. If the person was a total slinthead or an ultimate rule-breaker at the negative end (because Thomas only broke the rules for good intentions, Newt thought) they went to the Punishment Fields. Janson was probably there. What fun. And if they were a goody-two shoes shank like Tommy they got Elysium.

 

Good thing Newt listened to Charon when he lent a "free" trip to him on the mortal side of the Styx. Newt didn't really want to think of it much. He hoped the judges would be lenient to give him a place in Elysium but that could be asking for the bloody cure that never existed in the first place. There was no way he'd get his hopes up again in something. Heck. He was already dead, for god's sake! Should he really expect something in his afterlife? Was there something worth expectating to in this shucked up place?

 

All those thoughts swirled in his head, confusing the hell out of him. Enough thinking. He'd done that a lot in the upper world before and where did it get him?

 

Here. Here in this dark realm. In the realm of the dead.

 

He buried his head in his arms and tried not to think of it all.

 

_-Three hours have passed by the blond before the awaited judges arrived._

 

*

 

"Next on the list," said a man named Shakespeare, who had a quite funny hairstyle, "is a mortal named Newt."

 

There was nothing funny in his situation, however. Only one snicker- intended or not- and he'd go to the Fields of Punishment for that. 

 

(In fact, it happened to the third ghost earlier, who accidentally coughed and Minos thought he's restraining a cackle. It sounded fairly like that, but Newt knew it was something else.) 

 

The ghosts had disappeared from his line of vision. It always did. Before him, the trial would happen in a blink of an eye, the ghost who had been given verdict taken straight outside by friendly-looking souls or burning ghouls. 

 

Now it was his turn.

 

He stepped forward from his chair. Bowed his head a bit to show courtesy. Before him, at the top of a marble dais, were the five judges for today's trial. The famous playwright, William Shakespeare. His dark eyes regarded him with warmth, almost as if he's been looking forward to meeting him. Sitting at his left, is a man with completely white hair. He had almost the same hairstyle as Shakespeare. Thomas Jefferson, Newt recalled from the judges' introduction before, as the man nodded at him in a curt fashion. Then there was King Minos of Crete, who held his chin up as if belittling him. The way his eyes glinted at Newt's direction tells him something: "You'll find yourself in Punishment Fields, boy."

 

At that moment, the blond was sure he hated him. And the fact that he wasn't going to give Newt a little help on judgment, what, with the way his dead eyes scorned him, reinforced that particular feeling.

 

Newt's gaze lifted to the two other judges at the end of the table. A woman, who had deathly pale features, tar black eyes, silky hair and blood red lips, sat next to Minos. She wore a ghost white sleeveless gown, adorned by little sapphire orbs. Lady Persephone, Hades' wife. At her left was a dark-haired boy, no older than fifteen, Newt guesses, dressed in an oversized aviator jacket, black shirt and jeans. He went by Nico, the son of Hades. Minos said he was the Ghost King.

 

The boy's right eyebrow quirked upward, but didn't look any surprised. What had he seen? Did Newt stared long at him, and perhaps, and Nico found it unsettling? 

 

Crystal-clear images came next. Whirlwind of scenes and faces and places that once existed in peace in his head flashed before his eyes, burning afterimages behind his eyelids. His mom. His little sister. Their happy dog. Their simple life in the midst of a chaotic, insane world. Then WICKED came. Took him. Wrenched him away from his only family. Dropped him in the compound. Loneliness took hold, until he met Minho. Alby. Thomas. There were more, several more people who seemed to be happy in his company, until WICKED came again and swiped those memories away altogether. The Glade. The bloody Trials. The deterioration of his own head. The days when Minho and Tommy tried- they buggin' tried, those bloody shuck faces- to get him back. Promised him the cure.

 

But the end was already written. There was no way out. No way to get the Flare out of his brain. That's what they didn't understood.

 

The days where his sanity fell into a dark abyss, piece by piece, day by day. He knew he couldn't live like this. Like a feral being. A murderer. A cannibal. A monster.

And lastly, Tommy- his friend, best friend- pulling the trigger.

 

It felt like an eternity but Newt's instincts told him it was a mere second or two.

 

"Those were the things in your past." Shakespeare's voice jarred him out of his musings. "Now, we shall discuss where you'll go."

 

Newt was just about to ask something when Minos cut him off. "There are rules here, Newt. First, you'll talk when we tell you to talk. No cussing. We've seen your life now and you're just that person who's a big fan of it."

 

"Don't go so hard on him, Minos," Nico interjected. His tone held annoyance. "He's just... what, eighteen. Right?" Persephone nodded at that. "It's perfectly normal, if you ask me."

 

 _Eighteen_. The fact surprised Newt. He didn't  _looked_  eighteen but somehow it rang a bell of confirmation in his subconscious, almost agreeing. Even then, he couldn't help but smile.

 

Little did he know that it would start his troubles. 

 

"What are you smiling at?" This came from Minos, whose arms were now crossed over his chest. 

 

"I..." Somehow, Newt knew there was no point in lying. "My bloody memories were all wiped out, ya know?"

 

The judges nodded, slow.

 

"Then, Nico here-"

 

"Give some respect, you little-"

 

"I don't care, Minos." Nico let out an exasperated sigh. "I never liked too much formality anyway, and he's older, see? If anything I should be the one giving him respect. Let him finish whatever he's saying. It might help us in making the decision."

 

Minos looked like he was about to burst a vein in the neck. Maybe the ghosts in here were more... substantial? "We hadn't even permitted him to speak!"

 

"Then here," said Persephone. She turned to Newt, her features softening a bit. Almost... motherly. "Speak."

 

"Thanks, um, Lady Persephone." The blond cleared his throat. Anxiousness and the cauldron of mixed, unidentified emotions threatened to choke him. "All that I'm trying to say is that I'm happy. I finally knew my age. I saw my past without the help of WICKED." His voice cracked. Blood rushed to his face, taking hot tears with it. 

 

"I finally know what my family was like."

 

There was silence. A metaphorical itch- faint, but existent- emerged in his head. A twisted feeling bloomed in him, and he did his best to hide it from his body language.

 

"I've already decided." Shakespeare gave him a smile. "I'll give him a recommendation to Elysium. He deserves it after everything he'd went through."

 

"I agree as well," said Thomas Jefferson.

 

Newt felt something constricting his breathing. Must be his jumbled morass of emotions, fighting for dominance. Or maybe things were just about to go wrong.

 

"He's too dangerous for Elysium." Minos gazed at him with absolute abhorrence. Anger simmered in Newt's gut. "He'd been one of those people who eat humans to survive. Not to mention that he acquired dementia while he's at it. I say we put him somewhere far from the Underworld. Right next to Melinoe, perhaps."

 

The Queen of the Underworld scrunched her nose in disgust, gasping sharply at him. "How could you-"

 

Minos scowled, accentuated by an eye roll. "That's just a countermeasure so he won't affect anyone with that-"

 

Newt acted faster than he could've thought of. He tackled the ghostly judge off his chair and slammed him to the ground. He had no idea what snapped in him, what made him snap right there and then. The judges went out of their seats, settling to stand at either side of them two, only watching with faces twisted in denial. The old geezer was weak. Minos couldn't even hold his hands up to protect what was left of his shucking ghost face with Newt peppering bruises here and there with his tight knuckles. His punches, although his hands were made of semisolid mist, connected to the old crone's jaw and wrinkled cheeks. Newt even thought he'd heard something crack. Maybe a bone or his sanity. 

 

But he couldn't deny one thing. It felt good hurting him. It felt good hearing him scream. Hurt. Pain. Suffer. Cry. More. More. More. More! 

 

The air shimmered. The candlelights dimmed. A clear voice rang in the air. "Enough, Newt."

 

It was Nico. 

 

He stopped almost immediately, hands slacking. The adrenaline rush started to wane. Fast. No wonder he was the Ghost King, Newt realized. If he could control him like that, stop his senseless rampage with a word...

 

"I'll take him to Father himself."

 

"Nico- this- is- insanity-!" Minos wheezed. Lady Persephone didn't bother helping him get up. Just Newt. The goddess' hands were cold. "He- he should be sent to- to the Punishment Fields - no," he was shaking his head. "He belongs to Tartarus! He should be exiled!"

 

"That's a tad heartless, don't you think?" The other boy snapped. "How about you, Minos? Don't you think forcing people to go into a maze just to get eaten by your prized bull made you any better?"

 

_What-? Minos did what?!_

 

"He didn't even eat anyone when he was in that state." Nico was on a roll. "This boy helped everyone in every step of the way. He kept his insanity within. He asked for death, Minos. Isn't that enough credentials for you?"

 

By then, Newt had lost his tongue to oblivion. His head swam in a daze, the sudden rush of adrenaline from before taking a toll on him. Why did the son of Hades defended him on this...

 

Someone cleared his throat. "The son of Hades said it." It was Thomas Jefferson. "And I agree to it. I'm only worried on this so-called Flare in him. Maybe he didn't have the actual virus anymore- he's dead now, of course- but the post-Flare effects could still be there. Hence, his act from earlier. 

 

"It could be healed, Minos. Just like any kind of psychological mishap there is around the world. Given enough time, we can find what exactly triggers that erratic behavior of his and prevent it from happening. On top of that, I do think you shouldn't give him that rubbish you've said earlier when you did worse. That's hypocrisy."

 

The ancient king only huffed. The bruises faded from his ghost face, a scowl branded on it. "Cretins!" He held up his head, an air of arrogance swirling mad around him. "I still say that he should be exiled. Thrown somewhere else. Whether or not this Flare exists in his head, he'll cause mayhem in this place. More than what we all want."

 

He left the Judgment Pavilion, his cape of ghost white fabric billowing behind him like smoke. The ghosts reappeared. After seeing four remaining judges and Newt who was still standing at Persephone's side, they started hammering questions. Nico shushed them, easy. He explained things. After a few exchanges (where Newt had to go to a corner so he wouldn't hear it) the judgment trials were canceled. With a few grunts and dejected sighs, ghosts wearing a mix of fatigue clothing- they must've been soldiers- led the ghosts-in-waiting out to Asphodel where they'll stay until a trial is called again. 

 

Five minutes passed and the pavilion is cleared of ghosts. The four judges of that day and Newt headed for the Palace to see Hades and make a deal. Normally, Newt would've been terrified. Dealing with demons and dark lords were something someone doesn't do for kicks. He couldn't feel terror seeping through his heart, however. 

 

The four of them had decided to give him a recommendation to go to Elysium, with or without Minos' vote. (In fact, it would be days before they'd even mention the crone's name.) And they need Hades' approval, and maybe a little help from him, for that to be official. Obviously, Newt was quite a special case.

 

Shakespeare, Thomas, and Persephone led the way. The two youngsters fell at the back, a few feet away from them. 

 

"You'll help Daedalus in his work of fixing the Underworld." Nico said that while looking at his eyes, while they walked to the black palace. Newt had no idea who Daedalus was so Nico gave him some snippets of information. A child of Athena and an utter genius in the ancient times. (another thing to ask for: demigods and maybe a little more things about how these ancient beings even existed) In exchange of him cheating death for millennia as well as killing Minos, Hades had deigned it right for him to stay in Asphodel and redesign it to ease the "traffic" of ghosts at the area. 

 

That was, apparently, the deal they want to make to Lord Hades.

 

"Looking back at your life," Nico continued, "you seemed to be the smartest of them. One of the best in that generation."

 

Newt grunted. "WICKED said that too. A lot of times."  _That didn't meant he'd still be alive at the end, though._

 

An eyebrow crept up to Nico's forehead. "You have to tell me more about them. That group you call WICKED."

 

Newt cocked his head to the right to look at him. "Are you bloody serious?" The blond got a nod. 

 

"Well," Nico rubbed the nape of his neck. "If you don't want to, then I won't force you to."

 

"Huh? It's not that." Newt pursed his lips, thinking of a correct way to place the words. "I thought you and the judges would know right away from that flashback alone." How bad they were, how they maltreated people. How they had no remorse in breaking families away, killing innocent people. 

 

"Let's say people get curious about... bizarre events."

 

Newt grinned. That's what he was thinking, too. "I could say the same thing about me. All this shuck about gods could drive me nuts anytime so back at you, shank."

 

Nico gawked. "What did you just called me?"

 

"A  _shank_." Newt let out a fleeting laugh. "Seemed like a long time since I've said that."

 

Silence ensued. Newt heard Nico's footsteps in the gloom. But not his. It hardly bothered him anymore. 

 

"Probably. You're from... another place. And another time, too."

 

 _Wait_. "What did you just said?"

 

"I saw it," Nico replied. "You came from the future. Or maybe from a parallel universe- which I have no idea if it does exist. And just so you know, the current year here is 2012." The son of Hades sighed, shrugging as he did so. "I have no idea what the Fates just did to you, or what they want to prove, and if it's going to be good or bad for you in the afterlife."

 

Another place. Another time. Another universe. Newt was glad he landed somewhere nice. God- or maybe  _gods_  now, huh?- made his bloody soul land on a nice place, if he could possibly call the Underworld like that.

 

Nico had spoken the word  _fates_  as if it was a name of something.  _Someone_ , or a group of people, perhaps. 

 

"You'll get confused at some points here," Nico breathed. They jogged a bit to catch up with the adults up front, but to Newt it felt like he was half-sliding half-drifting forward. "But it's always in the beginning, right? Can't experience something for the first time without getting confused in the first place. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

 

The blond nodded in assent. "Naturally."

 

Nico returned the favor. "That settles it. If you have any questions just ask me- well, whenever I'm here- or anyone else who's not a ghost, alright?" 

 

Then, as bizarre as it was, Nico smiled at him. It's a meek smile, nothing too fancy, but Newt felt warmth in his insides. Really, the Underworld and the people- ghosts- in it wouldn't run out of things to surprise him. Newt was certain of that.

 

They reached the gates to Hades' palace. With a word from Lady Persephone the gates swung inward and they walked in. As Newt crossed the threshold, he felt a slight breeze. Cold. But somehow comforting. Calming. Like a cool wind in the middle of summer. 

 

_He should be exiled._

 

_He'll only cause mayhem; more than what we wanted._

 

Newt pushed Minos' words aside as they headed the throne room. It didn't matter anymore. The Underworld had given him justice, with the bonus of his fleeting memories in tow.

 

The Underworld couldn't be as bad as Minos was. Newt was sure of it.

 

_Fin._


End file.
